congrat you station

words stacked in bricks, pointed
neatly and splatted with pigeon.crap, read;
Dunns Guns, fine purveyors since 1804.
You shot me right in the head
that night

words in walls, built to last, edging the
grimeguilded, sallow-lit street.
Her humming ears
dulled to the precision of balance

and remember

how everyone laughed
on the time-paused platform,
that smelled like Italy in the winter;
confused by the absence of rats
that snatched our crumbs
of skittering.conversation last time ~
but it had been warmer then.

thrum-humming tracks
and three words haphazardly stacked;
billboard boredom built
and we boarded, tired then….